


Shakira Ex Machina

by catmanu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: A little soft at the end whoops, Affectionate Insults, Anal Sex, Birthday Cake, Birthday Smut, Breathplay, Idiots in Love, M/M, Now with Emojis, Polyamory, Shakira Ex Machina, Super Bowl, Super Bowl LIV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22759030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: Geri can't believe he's stuck at home on his birthday instead of watching Shakira perform at the Super Bowl. If Valverde were still in charge, he'd be in Miami by now. And to make matters worse, he doesn't even have Sergio to celebrate with. (Not that he wants that.)Or does he?
Relationships: Gerard Piqué/Sergio Ramos, Gerard Piqué/Shakira
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	Shakira Ex Machina

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who watched all of the games referenced in this fic, I had to take some liberties with the length of the first two quarters of the Super Bowl so that I could give Serard an appropriate amount of time for their encounter but still have time to watch the awesome halftime show ;)

God, their management shakeup couldn’t have come at a worse time.

If Ernesto were still around, Geri thinks, he’d _already_ be at the pool in Miami, lying there making sure Sasha and Milan didn’t fall into the deep end while harassing the guys in their WhatsApp group to remind them not to let Jordi show up to the game in another ugly sweater...That kind of thing.

He could be a proud guest of honor at Super Bowl LIV, watching Shak perform on their shared birthday. But instead he’s sitting here at home watching a replay of today’s Madrid derby.

 _I’ll be going to Miami for the Super Bowl,_ he tells Ernesto in his head. _Don’t worry, I’ll fly back the next day and be fully fit for Betis._

 _Well—I don’t know if it’s the best idea—_ he hears Ernesto saying as he skips back 15 seconds to watch Sergio take his shot and miss it, sending the ball flying way over the net. Dumbass.

 _It’s for my birthday! Don’t you know how to have fun?_ He goes back 15 seconds again. How had Sergio missed that chance, anyway? _I’ll text you from Miami, tío!_

Why does he even have a TV this big? Sergio looks larger than life on it. Each bead of sweat is magnified. It looks like you could almost _taste_ it. Geri _can_ taste it though, that’s the thing. He’s put his mouth on sweaty Sergio in more contexts than anyone could ever guess…

Fucking Sergio can’t do anything right. The idiot can’t even be here with him for his birthday.

Geri sighs and pauses the replay and puts on a YouTube playlist he’s made instead. The first video is ready and waiting: “Sergio Ramos TOP 15 Goals.”

A genius (him, obviously) had installed lights you could turn off with a remote, and so he does, settling back into the pillows as the room fades to black and Sergio shines brighter than ever in the darkness. He reaches for the tissue box _just in case_ not that he will have _any_ mess to wipe up while watching videos of Sergio looking nearly larger than life. He _never_ has before.

There’s no one in the house but him and his hand and Sergio Ramos TOP 15 Goals. It’s like he’s all alone in Manchester again, a stupid 33 year-old teenager. It’s past midnight. _Per molts anys Geri!!!_ Where the fuck is Sergio? Why didn’t he drive the six hours to Barcelona to surprise him on his birthday?

 _Selfish asshole._ Sergio makes the ball kiss the back of the net 15 times. Even in that awful white kit it’s poetic. Of course he winds up needing the tissues. There are so many more videos, but he’s not actually a lonely teenager in Manchester anymore, and after cleaning himself up he can’t manage to stay awake any longer so he falls asleep on the couch like an old man with Sergio in all white glowing in the dark.

*

He doesn’t stay to hang out after Levante. Everything has been so badly timed, even this fucking suspension—had it happened a week earlier, he’d be at the Super Bowl, and let them all talk about how he did it on purpose. He books it home to the TV, which is a terrible and unfair substitute.

He’ll support the Chiefs—not that he cares either way—but Griezmann is a huge fan of their quarterback and he’s been excited about the game all day and he kind of works his way into your heart a little, that Grizi. American football moves slow—he always forgets. The game hasn’t started yet. God knows when the halftime show will begin. He texts Shak.

_So how much better than J.Lo do you look right now? Tell the truth._

He can sense her eye roll an ocean away. _It’s not a competition—at least not tonight_ 😉

_Can’t relate._

And then he adds _I wish the first half were over already._

 _Patience_ 😘 _Sometimes things are better if you have to wait a little for them_

He thinks of Sergio, who hasn’t said a damn thing to him about his birthday. _Only if the things wind up actually happening...Trying not to complain to you about being all alone here on your big night but I guess it’s not working_ 😢

 _Are you sure you’re not alone?_ 😉

This is such an unexpectedly creepy thing for Shak to say that he jumps a little. _What the fuck?_

_Is there someone hiding in the fucking closet?_

_Just wait a little birthday boy_

He gets an alert from his security system.. Someone’s at the front entrance.

He’s _actually_ a little scared now—scared enough that when he opens up the video feed on his phone, he forgets what to feel when he sees who’s there.

Sergio. Sergio Ramos. Is outside his house holding a box that definitely has a cake in it.

“This is weird,” he says into the phone. “I thought trash pickup was two days ago. I guess they missed my house.”

“Happy birthday...” Sergio sings into the speaker, smiling sweetly.

 _Don’t you DARE!_ Geri thinks at his heart, which is threatening to beat faster. His stomach also seems to want to have butterflies in it, which just _isn’t_ allowed. “I always knew you were stupid, but I had no idea you couldn’t even read a fucking calendar. My birthday is over, try again next year.”

“That’s too bad,” Sergio says. “I have such a good cake in this box.” He reaches a finger in and pulls it out with the tip covered in frosting. He slides it into his mouth and watching his lips close around it is just _painful._ “So good...I need more.” Now he’s using two fingers. Geri wonders why he ever wanted Sergio to show up here. “Fuck yeah...this is one of the best things I’ve ever put in my—”

“That’s it, I’m calling the cops,” Geri says. “Hello? There’s a pervert outside my house and I’m feeling threatened.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” Sergio breathes. “You’re so tall and strong...come deal with me yourself.”

“You know what?” Geri stands up. He’s grateful for the fact that his shorts are the baggy kind; they’ll be useless soon enough with Sergio around, but for at least a little while longer they can preserve some of his dignity. “I think I will.”

He texts Shak on the way downstairs. _How the fuck did you know???_

_Sorry love it’s so busy right now hope you have a fun night!!!_

It’s definitely not the time to think about how much of a coincidence this _isn’t._ Especially not when he’s about a minute from grabbing Sergio by the collar and (hopefully literally) dragging him into the house.

*

They manage to set the cake down safely, which is more than they’re able to do for themselves. Sergio shoves Geri onto the rug and climbs on top of him. He knees him in the stomach. Not gently.

“Ow!”

“That’s for calling me trash, you dick,” Sergio says. “And this is for turning 33.” He leans down and kisses Geri so hungrily it’s pornographic. It’s the kind of kiss that will make your lips hurt if it goes on for long enough. He slips his knee off of Geri’s stomach so he’s straddling him there on the floor. It’s ridiculous—they still have all their clothes on and already their breathing is uneven, rough at the edges.

“And _this_ is for turning 33,” Sergio says against his lips. He takes Geri’s hand and curls it around the bulge in his jeans. He’s burning hot— even through the thick fabric. Geri squeezes. Sergio bites his neck.

“Your hands are so _big..._ ”

“I think you’ve said that every time we’ve done this,” Geri says. “And we’ve done this a lot of times.”

“I like your hands, okay? Fuck, only you would bitch about a compliment.” Sergio shakes his head and sits up with Geri’s hand still working over the length of him through his pants. He smacks Geri across the face.

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“And I’m going to do this 33 times for being a dick when I’m trying to be nice to you.” He smacks him again. “Don’t worry, I’m sure your stupid beard will soften the pain a little—”

Well, time to put a stop to _this_ , whatever it is. He shoves Sergio off of him and sits up, pushing him down onto the floor. Now it’s _his_ turn to straddle Sergio, and sure, Sergio’s strong and all, but Geri is pretty hard to move. He gets his hands around Sergio’s neck and watches his eyes go all soft and dreamy. Doing a little research on safe breathplay had been a _very_ good move. A genius one on his part. He increases the pressure on Sergio’s neck slightly.

“Do you want to keep hitting me like a little brat, or do you want to give me what you came here to give?”

“Both,” Sergio mouths.

Geri gives him a little toothy snarl because Sergio likes that kind of thing, and he _shouldn’t_ want to do things Sergio likes, because why would anyone want to make this asshole and his showoffy skin happy anyway—

Sergio smiles and Geri reaches behind him and pinches the tip of the full-on erection he already knew he’d find. He gently pulls his other hand away from Sergio’s neck, too, and Sergio gasps, his chest heaving. He sounds like he’s already been fucked. _Fuck._

“Get up,” Geri hisses at him, tripping over his own legs as he tries to scramble to his feet. Normally Sergio would laugh at this, but he’s just lying there dazed with a tent in his pants. “Come on. Get up.” He nudges Sergio’s ribs with his bare foot. “Upstairs.”

Sergio wobbles as he stands. “Your birthday cake?”

“Upstairs too,” Geri says, barely thinking about it. “Come on.”

He leads Sergio into his bedroom. He suddenly doesn’t remember if Sergio has ever been in there before. Who cares? His bed is huge and comfortable and he’s going to have Sergio in it in about five seconds.

“Stop making me look at your shitty fashion sense,” he says. Sergio’s dressed almost normally, for once, in a suspiciously blaugrana outfit; his tight jeans have some stars printed up and down the left leg, sure, but his shirt is burgundy and soft-looking and just the perfect combination of baggy and tight. “Strip.” 

“Yeah, cause _you_ really look like…someone who’s worth more than Espanyol’s budget for the year,” Sergio smirks as he gets rid of his clothes. This asshole is quoting him…this asshole has watched his interviews?“You’re wearing basketball shorts on your _birthday?_ It would kill you to dress nicely for your guest?”

“What’s wrong with being comfortable?” Geri whips his shirt off. “Is this better, you fucking snob?”

“Worse! My _eyeesssss!_ ” Sergio looks ridiculous crouching on the floor pretending to cover his eyes while his cock is curving up toward his stomach, thick and hard and pink at the tip. “You could really use some tattoos, Geri, break up that whole pale…expanse you have going on.” He waves his hand at Geri’s chest.

“Expanse? I’ll show you an _expanse_.” He shoves his shorts down around his ankles and steps out of them and from the sudden look on Sergio’s face it seems like he’s no longer interested in joking around. His eyes are wide and his full lips form an O and he really just generally looks like a tourist stepping into the Sagrada Família for the first time. Not that Geri’s comparing his dick to world-class Catalan architectural genius or anything, but.

“You don’t get enough credit for your generosity,” Sergio says. 

“Huh?”

“It’s _your_ birthday.” Sergio’s voice goes soft and he drops to his knees in front of Geri, wetting those lips. “But you brought _me_ a present.”

Okay, so maybe he _is_ 16 again. He’s hard, embarrassingly hard, in seconds—as soon as Sergio sucks him into his mouth. That warm tongue running over him makes his legs wobble, and he sits down roughly at the edge of the bed, tangling his hand in Sergio’s hair to bring him with him. Wouldn’t do him any good to literally collapse while Sergio was sucking him off. He imagines this somehow making it into the Roja group chat.

Sergio can’t fit all of him into his mouth, so he makes up for what he can’t do by wrapping his hand around the base of Geri’s cock and pumping it, timing the movement of his fist to the rhythm of his head bobbing up and down. It’s already so good that Geri’s cursing at him, letting sounds come out of his mouth that make him glad he isn’t _actually_ living in Manchester with his bedroom wall touching someone else’s. Sergio’s still got one hand free and he uses it to scratch Geri’s stomach and up to his chest and back down and up and down like he’s petting a cat, so of course he does the same thing to Sergio’s shoulders, feeling how each individual muscle moves under his fingertips. He catches himself wrapping a leg around Sergio’s back and realizes how close he could easily be to coming down Sergio’s throat and that’s not what he wants right now. Maybe later. He gives Sergio’s forehead a little push and watches that obscene strand of spit that always connects his lips and Geri’s cock until it bursts, notes the perfectly _grana_ color of his slightly-swollen lips. “Did you bring lube?"

Sergio tosses his hair. “Why would I when you keep some right over _there,_ three drawers down?” He’s pointing right to the exact fucking drawer where they keep the—How—

“Shakira’s much more helpful than _you_ have ever been,” Sergio says, grinning at Geri's surprise. “She told me where you guys keep the lube and also _may have mentioned_ what you do w—”

Fuck, is nothing sacred anymore?! Geri isn’t the kind of person who blushes much, or at all, but right now he feels like he might.

“You two are the fucking worst. Jesus, did you just sit around gossiping about me one day?”

“Enjoyed every second of it.”

Geri flops onto his bed and sighs in despair that’s only half-fake. “You should have gotten it by now if you knew where it was. Go get it.”

Sergio gives a little chuckle as he opens the drawer. Geri groans and reaches his hand out, wiggling his fingers. “Hurry _up_ , Sergio, will you?”

“Damn, that’s a buttload of rope.”

“ _Sergio!”_ Geri wails.“You don’t have a search warrant, so get the fuck out of my stuff!”

Sergio slides the container into Geri’s hand and climbs onto the bed. “It’s not really searching if it’s just out in the open, is it?”

“Just _lie down,_ ” Geri says, squirting a good amount of lube onto his fingers and spreading Sergio’s cheeks apart as he flops onto his back. He scoots down and presses his mouth to Sergio’s rim for a little hello kiss— “Not that you deserved that after gossiping about me,” he grumbles afterward—and then spears two fingers deep into him. Sergio yelps and kicks the bed and his swollen cock twitches between his legs. Geri’s joins in.

Sometimes the prep makes him impatient, but he’s got to do at least some. He wouldn’t go without, he wouldn’t do that to Sergio, no matter how much he always threatens (and how much Sergio begs for it).

Like he’s doing now. “Don’t prep me, Geri, come on,” he’s teasing. “Go in without.”

“No.”

And Sergio smirks. “Aww, why not?” he asks. “Are you scared to hurt me?”

“No. Why would I care about that? You’d probably deserve it.”

“Awww, Geri’s scared of hurting me, Geri’s scared of hurting me—Ow! Fuck!” Geri grits his teeth and pushes inside him in one go, as far into Sergio as he can, and sure, he’s gotten him ready, but not _too_ ready. “You just had to be a dick?”

“Well, you just couldn’t keep your mouth shut for five seconds,” Geri explains. 

“Fucking hilarious coming from _you._ ”

Geri starts to respond, but then Sergio squeezes around him—tight, hot, he clearly _needs_ it—and _fuck,_ only he and Sergio would get into it and totally forget one of them had his cock up the other’s ass. He leans forward, taking Sergio’s face in his hands as he pumps gently into him, and when their lips come together they both make the same stupid sound, as though they’re surprised by how good they taste, by how good this feels. _We’re both fucking idiots,_ Geri thinks idly, and he moves to rub his cheek against Sergio’s, and when he shifts Sergio’s cock suddenly enters the equation. It’s curving up between them and from this new angle it’s pressing against Geri’s stomach, leaving a wet streak across his abs. He reaches down to touch it and Sergio moans.

“Wait—Geri, don’t—I’ll—”

Geri _could_ make fun of Sergio for having the self-control of a teenager, but he’s already caught up in the familiarity of being inside Sergio and also, _also,_ he’s still trying to be gentle; he’s not in deep enough yet and it’s killing them both. He slaps Sergio’s thighs— “up,” he urges, “come on, _up,_ ” —and once Sergio’s got his strong legs wrapped tight around his waist he stops _thinking_ and just _goes._ As soon as he finds that perfect angle for pounding relentlessly away at Sergio it’s like he’s never stopped doing this, like they’ve never stopped doing anything _but_ this. 

“Shit…you’re in so _deep,_ oh god, so—so d—” Sergio’s eyes are closed and he’s grabbing at Geri’s face, running his thumbs across his lips. “Fuck—come here—get closer—”

“Don’t take orders from _you,_ Ramos,” Geri pants. Even when gasped out from underneath him, an order is an order and he’s _not_ about to let that happen. He pulls out instead, getting a little hissing noise from Sergio in response. He instantly misses the warmth, that tight, needy squeeze, that reminder that for some fucking incomprehensible reason he and Sergio were _made_ for this. He doesn’t want to stop, but he likes seeing the damage he’s done. He looks down at Sergio, his rim red and raw and open, and traces his thumb over it just to make Sergio moan and kick his legs. Seeing Sergio Ramos reduced to this in his bed is—Well, it’s—

“Don’t fucking stop,” Sergio gasps.

“What?”

“I said, don’t fucking stop.”

Geri reaches forward and cups Sergio’s chin. “Hey, open your eyes when you beg me for things like that, otherwise how do I know you aren’t imagining I’m some other guy?”

Sergio’s eyes flutter open. They wander, looking dazed, but when the rich brown irises find Geri’s face Geri knows Sergio isn’t imagining shit.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I guess you aren’t.”

“That would be pretty hard to do. Who else do we know who’s got a dick this big, huh?”

Fucking Sergio—he always makes Geri feel like this—like it’s a bright sunny day and the world and everything he wants is his—and it’s awful and it makes him nibble up Sergio’s jawbone and suck at his earlobe and then finally he slides back into Sergio, who clenches around him, who invites him in, and there’s no resistance. It’s the easiest thing he’s done all day.

And he knows that Sergio knows how he’s feeling and he’s not sure if he wants that.

“Come here.” Sergio’s giving him orders again, and he reaches up and tugs at Geri’s hair to bring his face back down. Their teeth collide and they moan through the discomfort; Geri’s thrusting so hard into Sergio he thinks he sees stars, maybe an entire galaxy stretched across Sergio’s sweaty cheeks and shining just for him to see. _That would be nice_ , he thinks. Sergio’s jerking himself off underneath Geri, who’s been so busy seeing galaxies on Sergio’s face that he’s forgotten the poor guy needs his dick touched. He reaches down to join his hand with Sergio’s and that’s all it takes for Sergio to grunt and come all over his own stomach. He calls out Geri’s name so fondly as his cock pulses and his hips shudder that it’s painful. It’s like they’ve been _making love_ or some shit like that, it’s—

Sergio’s still twitching and Geri needs to slow—needs to slow it—but instead he runs a fingertip through the mess Sergio’s made of his stomach and tastes him—he does it again and this time Sergio sticks his tongue out for a taste too, moaning shakily—together they’re cleaning off Geri’s finger and Sergio is whimpering because he’s driving impossibly deep into him but he can’t stop now, it’s out of his control, he’s going to—

He empties into Sergio almost silently; it’s too good to even remember how to make sounds. 

He collapses onto the bed, leaving a wet streak down Sergio’s thighs, and afterward he swears he blacked out for a few minutes. He’s tingling from head to toe; he feels almost fluffy inside, like he’s made of clouds or some other cheesy shit he shouldn’t even be thinking.

“Geri,” Sergio whispers. “The halftime show?”

“Oh, fuck. Right.” He works his way upright. Sergio snuggles up to him, or maybe Geri’s the one who’s pulling him closer, but either way Geri’s giving him a little kiss on the head before turning on the TV. Even after being thoroughly fucked the way he’s just been, Sergio’s hair is soft. It’s infuriating. It’s _unfair._

There’s still three minutes left in the second quarter. Knowing American football, those three minutes could take what, fifteen? “Happy birthday,” Sergio mumbles suddenly, his voice as worn-out as Geri feels, and Geri remembers the cake.

“Hey, want something delicious in your mouth?”

“If you’re trying to get me to suck your dick, the answer is no.”

“I’m not, but I’m glad you think I’m delicious.”

“Oh, fuck you. That’s not what I m—”

Geri slaps his palm over his mouth. If he spreads his fingers wide enough, his hand feels like it takes up half of Sergio’s face. “I can’t hear you, you’ll have to speak up. Do you want some cake?”

“ _God_ yes,” Sergio says. “I thought you were trying to starve me to death. You’re gonna love it, it’s from the best bakery in Madrid.”

“Then how good can it really— _fuck_ you, what the fuck is your problem? I need this hand for things!” Sergio’s chomped down on his palm _hard_ and it stings and he grumbles at those laughing brown eyes all the way till he’s out in the hall.

He goes down to the kitchen and decides to come back with only one spoon.

“Whoops, I forgot a spoon for you, we’ll have to share,” he says to Sergio when he returns, winking and opening up the box and admiring the cake inside.

Sergio snorts and rolls his eyes as Geri climbs back into bed and props them both up against the headboard but doesn’t seem to mind Geri carefully sliding spoonfuls of chocolate cake into his mouth, nor doing the same to Geri, as the second quarter finally comes to an end. 

*

Sergio’s mostly-asleep for the halftime show; Geri stops pinching him to keep him awake once J.Lo comes on. Priorities. 

By the time the third quarter starts—the 49ers are ahead and it’s a downer to imagine poor Antoine’s sad face at practice tomorrow—he’s snoring softly and his breath is soft and warm on Geri’s bare skin and his hair is long enough again for Geri to twirl around his fingers. It’s peaceful, and how often does he get to feel that way? He could get used to it.

He _can’t_ get used to it.

He fishes around for his phone and one-handedly texts Shak all the compliments he can possibly think of, including:

 _You looked way better than J.Lo._

_Thank you_ 😘 _Wait…hold on…what are you doing on your phone?_

_He’s asleep_

He sends a photo of them, of how Sergio’s nestled against his chest, his hair all messy.

_Awww you two are old men._

_Excuse me, I’m still awake here?????_

_Is that cake in his hair????_

_We may have celebrated a little_

_Is that our bed???_

_I’ll change the sheets, don’t worry!!_

_You better. Anyway love stop texting me and enjoy him to the fullest_ 😉

Enjoying Sergio to the fullest is exactly what he wants to do right now. Fuck sleeping. They’ll sleep when they’re dead, right? He gives Sergio a little shake.

“Hey, wake up.”

“Mmmmmfff...why?”

“Suck my dick.”

“Suck your own dick. I’m sleeping.”

“It’s my birthday,” Geri says, running his finger over Sergio’s full lips. “I want you to suck me off.”

“It’s not your birthday anymore.” Sergio is smiling even though his eyes are still closed. “Can’t you read a fucking calendar, Geri?”

Geri rolls his eyes and nips his earlobe. “It’s still my birthday if I say it is.”

“Whatever you say, Geri. It’s closer to my birthday now. And I want to sleep. With you.”

Oh. For some reason this drives all thoughts of dick-sucking far, far from his mind. “Yeah…” he admits. “I’d like to sleep, too. I’m old. Your age, now.”

“For like, two months,” Sergio yawns, his eyes closed. “Enjoy it. Goodnight kiss?”

His lips find Geri’s even with his eyes closed. Their kisses are soft and sweet and Geri’s poor heart is pounding away and he _hates_ it. He does.

“Bona nit,” he mouths against Sergio’s cheek. Sergio would probably have some comments about him speaking Catalan in his presence, but Geri really is tired and it’s comforting and what Sergio doesn’t know can’t hurt him—

“ _Fuck,_ I’m sore.”

“I thought you were going to sleep?”

“I’m trying…but it’s been too long since we’ve—Ouch. Damn.”

“Heartbreaking,” Geri mumbles, pulling him closer. 

“More like ass-breaking. Fuck you.”

“Are you really going to bitch at me until you fall asleep?” Geri asks, and waits for an answer that he doesn’t get. Sergio’s already passed out again, curled against him like back in the day when they’d sneak into each other’s rooms during training and—

He’ll have all of tomorrow, hopefully, to think about what he’s going to do with Sergio, but right now what he’s going to do with Sergio is _sleep_ , his first night’s sleep as a 33 year-old, and there’s one last thing to do before he does.

He finds his phone again and texts Shak with his last ounce of energy:

_Thank you so much for this. I really needed it._

_Oh believe me…I know._

**Author's Note:**

> What exactly did Shakira tell Sergio about the lube? Feel free to use your imagination ;)
> 
> I have no idea what I'm doing with these guys, seriously, but I hope you had fun ;)
> 
> Kudos and comments would make my day! :)
> 
> Talk to me on [insta](https://www.instagram.com/griziwave) or [tumblr](http://theboywiththedejantattoo.tumblr.com)!


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